The long road

How do you convince a person you care for them? By showing up, by being there, by keeping it together when all you want to do is break down with them. A wise friend once told me, the supporters in this world need support too.

God knows the tears that goes unshed for the sake of Love. 

The wind speaks no more

That I no longer scribble my longings & speak to the wind, I fear I truly am desolate. 

I am mired down. This quiet swamp, nothing that breathes visits me. Perhaps it's ungrateful to say that I now prefer the xeric solitude of being away from home.

When the self is uprooted from its birthplace, one is a wanderer. A seeker of connection in unfamiliar lands. A survivor who strives. An independent wayfarer who holds Love in his heart instead of his hands.

Studying overseas have instilled in me a duality in what I define as 'home'. Such a strange concept that evolved through out the 4 years I spent in Australia.

It's true. The heart longs for longing. A conundrum.

With the water

Wudu', Ablutions. The act of running water over your face, forearms, forehead and feet in the correct order and number of times. A symbolic act of purifying the self before one turns one's face towards His Mercy.

And then prayer itself. Likened in the Qur'an to the act of crossing a river. Having crossed a river 5 times in a day, will your clothes not be clean? Similarly, the heart, the Soul.

Deliberate and slow, let the water heal.

Now at 3 in the morning, I think of the two letters I've started writing and left unfinished. 

Amsterdam

Checking in. Leaving for Venice tomorrow.

I'll not speak of the sights. That belongs at a later time, when I am calm and unhurried.

Instead I'll just unburden my mind a little and say, I find it odd how people react to another hiding their grief. As if heralding one's feelings of anguish signifies the depth of caring. For me personally, the more significant the wound, the stronger the desire to hide it. 

Why should I, let the uncaring masses witness my profound loss? Such a sullying of my breavement.

This is an odd tangent isn't it. This is why: I was at the Tulip gardens and I thought of the Qur'an, how it describes Jannah as gardens with rivers flowing beneath it and hence among the bright flowers, I remembered Death.

Distillation

It is one thing to have a heart wakened from blind submission into awareness. It is then another to have a heart capable of questioning in pursuit of deeper faith. And finally, armed with more knowledge, it is a feat to have an obedient heart.

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It's hard to unangry yourself when the situation has you already ticked off. And this incessant coughing (it's been what...8? 9 weeks?) is definitely not helping.

When do I get to feel normal again. It's been 4 months. 

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Am trying very hard not to let it get to me. And am failing quite miserably.